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User blog:WinxMagiaDiWordGirl/Everlasting Love Trilogy (Potential Fanfiction)
Hi everybody! So, as the title of my now third blog suggests, I'm thinking of writing another WordGirl series entitled "Everlasting Love." Sounds cheesy, right? Well, don't worry, the name's a work in progress. It will consist of three stories: Quest for Immortality, The Heart of a Beta, and Rising to a Second Death. Anyway, here is a potential summary for the potential story which potentially may be written. (Did I mention I like the word potential? :D) What if WordGirl never came to Earth? 16-year-old Princess Alexandria Theia is living the life her dreams with the charming Prince Tobias, but when Planet Earth, a rebel uprising, and a disastrous arranged marriage come into play, will their love be able to overcome the odds? Together, will Lexicon and Earth be able to conquer their greatest enemy: Death itself? Like I said, it's a definite work in progress, and I'm not even sure if I'll do it, which is why I'm asking you guys! To help you out, let me also include the prologue for the first part, Quest for Immortality: --------------------------------------------- Prologue I: Pandora's Muses Let me first make this clear: You have nothing to fear from me. And this is a fact you should very well accept now. After all, there is no way to avoid me. Sooner or later, I will meet you all. You’ll be like all the others. May it be in eight years or eighty, there will arrive a day when your soul grows weary of being toted around this bleak, dismal earth. It will detach itself from the suffocating vessel you call a body and wander the earth, searching for me. And make no mistake. You will find me. I have this certain magnetic aura – although I prefer to chalk it up to my naturally charismatic personality – that will inexplicably draw you to my hearth, where I sit waiting for you. What? You thought I would be the one coming to you? Oh no, not a chance. Do you have any idea how exhausting such a task would be, to gather up every individual soul into my arms as if they were nothing more than harvested grains of wheat and carry them like little lost lambs to my hearth? No, I work hard enough as it is. You will come to me. And when you do come, you will see me, bent over my loom as I weave together the intricate masterpiece of life from the threads of human heartstrings. I will look up and smile, although you will never see my face. I will beckon you to stand next to me and admire my handiwork. In wonder and awe, you will gently brush your hands against the silk fabric, and as you do, all the greatest, most elusive secrets of the world will make themselves known to you. I will even allow you to tie the final knot on your string, symbolizing the end of your existence upon this earth. Then, I will invite you to sit by my hearth (souls grow quite chilly once displaced from their bodies), and you will tell me a story. This is my favorite part. The stories. Over the eons of my existence, I have heard a whole myriad of stories, from gruesome tales of bloody wars long forgotten to tear-jerking fables of true love. This is what keeps my job from become too tedious. I will listen to your story with rapt attention, for I am more well-mannered than you might think. And this will not be just any story. This will be the story of your life. Some stories are terribly boring, with an entire life wasted upon trivial, frivolous things. Some stories are despicable, filled with horrid, abominable crimes. Some will try to feebly try to justify the plot’s morals, but they can never lie. Lying is a thing of your realm, not mine. And there are a token few that while are riddled with hardship, still manage to have a happy ending and an inspiring story of true meaning. These last ones are always my favorite, although you will never learn my thoughts about your tale. I will not share a single remark or pass judgment, for it is not my place to do so. After you finish your tale, I will get up from my loom, and together, we will walk down a corridor to face three doors. I am well aware that you humans tend to picture the goodness of Heaven as a realm of light and the evil of Hell as a realm of fire and darkness. While I cannot blame you for clinging to some sort sound basis to thus construct your imaginings of an afterlife you know nothing of, let me be the first to tell you that you are terribly mistaken. These doors do not exude a radiance of light or darkness; they are simply there, waiting for your decision. If it were that blatantly obvious, then no one would choose the fate they deserve! You will ask me for guidance, a way to know which door is correct. I will answer you honestly, for even I cannot lie, and say that I do not know, which technically is the truth. I am as clueless as you as to what lays beyond the other side, and while I have listened to your story and formed my own speculations about the matter, ultimately, it is you who will determine your own fate. Here’s a word of advice: Choose the first door. Through an innate, inexplicable ability of the dead, you will somehow feel a pull in your heart, guiding you to the door where you truly belong. For some reason, it is always the first or second door, never the third. It is an enigma that has tantalized me for ages, but I in time, have simply come to assume it is a form of oblivion, a daunting, ominous threshold, which not even the bravest souls dare to cross. Very few souls will march toward their destiny with confidence and pride, and if you do the same, you have earned my admiration. Most of you, however, will shuffle forward tentatively, constantly looking back at me for some assurance that their choice will bring them what they desire. Only your screams as the door swings shut behind you tells me if your choice was right. Then, sighing with either satisfaction or pity, I will return to my loom and wait for the next soul, all the while pondering the stories I have heard. Over the course of my – well, I can’t really call it a lifetime, can I? – existence, yes, that’s the word, I have heard a thousand tales, listened to a million sorrows. As you will soon learn, I have heard the laments of fallen Lexiconian soldiers, heard the heart-wrenching cries of an enslaved race… But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? That all comes much later, but for now, let’s start at the beginning. After all, every story has to have one, right? I suppose I should start with my name. I’m sure you’re all wondering about that. I know the human race has crafted many names for me over the centuries, but I wish to use none of them, especially your most modern, renown one. Death? Honestly, you make me out to be some sort of intimidating monster! Since you prove to be so inept at the task, I suppose I’ll have to select a suitable name of my own. Hmm, what to choose? I couldn’t stand to be called something as mundane as Sally or Anne. Then again, I’m not so full of myself as to select the name of a goddess, such as Hera or Aphrodite. Hmm… be lucky your parents are the ones burdened with such responsibility. I know! ''Pandora. '' Yes, that will be my name. And for those of you who are currently thinking of the Internet radio Pandora, please know that I am not that insipid. For those of you whose minds turned instantly to Greek mythology, I commend you. I quite relate to Pandora, a human burdened with God-like powers, a girl blamed for the suffering of the world even though she was only abiding by her nature and her vital role in the universe. Still, despite her faults, Pandora released Hope, the bane of human existence that gives life purpose and meaning. Yes, I believe she’ll be suitable. To reiterate, as I have gotten off topic, I am Pandora. I have heard a million stories, and today, for the first time, I shall tell you one of my own. View this as a certain repayment for your fidelity, for your people have done me a great kindness by simply providing me company as you sit by my hearth. But there was one girl who never sat by my hearth. She cheated me, although not in the way you expect. And in a way, this was my fault. As I am sure you have deduced, I weave together the fabric of Life from your heartstrings. Most of the time, I am perfect, flawless, but there are a host of rare occasions where my fingers slip and thus alter the course of destiny. But can you truly blame me? After all, I am only… well, not human, not mortal, but certainly not without flaws in more ways than one. And as I think back to that fateful day, as the dropped thread snaked its way into my masterpiece like an encroaching weed, entirely of its own accord, I can’t help but remember hoping with my entire being that the effects of my mistake would not be catastrophic. How wrong I was. I now present the story of Princess Alexandria Theia of Planet Lexicon. ---------------------------------So yes, I intend on telling this story from Death's perspective. Enthralling? Disturbing? A bit of both? I figured that since this entire story is about Lexiconians and humans trying to cheat Death, then having the story told from her point of view would provide a certain twist to the plot. Okay, that's all! Please, please, please let me know what you think! Category:Blog posts